Comment
Rate
Share
House for sale? A lot of money surrounds Rod Jetton's political consulting work
By Jason Noble and Steve Kraske/The Kansas City Star, Mo. (MCT)
His nickname is "The Rodfather."
When a Republican candidate in Missouri wants money, he hires Rod Jetton. When a corporation wants to defeat legislation, it hires Jetton.
And when big donors push big special interests, they know Jetton's friends can make lawmakers an offer they can't refuse.
Since he left the General Assembly as House speaker in 2008, Jetton has parlayed a natural gift for politics and eight years as a tough, tireless Republican Party leader into a profitable career as a consultant famous for behind-the-scenes maneuvering.
But the way the ex-Marine and former real estate salesman conducts political business has attracted the scrutiny of the FBI as it probes "pay for play" allegations in Jefferson City. Lawmakers are being investigated, too.
"Instead of being the guy himself -- being the governor -- he decided he wanted to become the puppet master," said Chris Benjamin, a former top aide to Jetton who has since become a Democrat.
The Kansas City Star interviewed dozens of lawmakers, lobbyists and political observers and reviewed thousands of pages of documents in recent months and found Jetton is one of the most powerful men influencing state government, despite not being an elected official.
The Star's investigation found:
--Jetton's clients have collected huge campaign donations after supporting legislation backed by wealthy Missourians. A vote in the House that tried to change how the state's judges are selected netted more than $250,000 in contributions for a Jetton client and for GOP campaign committees.
--Jetton has been operating at times, according to Republican and Democratic lawmakers, more like a lobbyist than a political consultant. Lobbyists are required to register with the Missouri Ethics Commission and publicly disclose their clients and gifts to lawmakers. A successful fight against utility rate legislation on behalf of one of his corporate clients netted $68,000 in fees for Jetton's consulting firm.
--Jetton's handling of campaign funds has drawn the attention of the Ethics Commission. A complaint obtained by The Star alleges that after he left office, Jetton illegally converted more than $24,000 in campaign money to personal use.
Jetton said that the money transfer was legal and that his critics' assessments of his power are overblown.
"I hear it all the time that I'm the 'Wizard of Oz' behind the curtain. I guess I should be flattered. Quite frankly ... I don't have any power. I can't kill a bill. I can't refer a bill," Jetton said. "If I have any power, it's because of one thing: I know how to run a campaign and win a race."
Bare-knuckles politics
Jetton, 42, served four terms in the House, rising from an unknown rural representative from southeast Missouri to speaker, the chamber's most powerful position.
But controversy dogged him during his political career. In 2004, he launched a consulting firm -- Common Sense Conservative Consulting -- and ran it throughout his tenure as speaker, taking on as clients the same lawmakers whose legislation depended on his blessing.
While the Ethics Commission called the arrangement legal, it expressed "serious concerns about the ability of an elected official to avoid violation of ... laws while conducting a consulting business for compensation."
When he was speaker, Jetton also oversaw the House Republican Campaign Committee, the political action committee that bankrolls candidates in close elections statewide.
He orchestrated the passage of legislation on how villages are incorporated, enraging his own party so much that more than two dozen fellow Republicans attempted to boot him from office.
And he did it all with a swagger, once heckling the then governor, Bob Holden, during a legislative address, and even keeping a second office in a bank-style vault on the Capitol's second floor.
But the continuing controversies -- and his steady alienation of those within his own party -- effectively ruled out a run at statewide office. So when Jetton was term-limited out of the House in 2008, he turned his attention full time to consulting.
Known for his bare-knuckles politics and boundless energy, Jetton has become a conduit for campaign contributions greasing the legislative gears in Jefferson City, The Star found.
From his office on High Street just blocks from the Capitol, Jetton now counts among his clients nearly the entire slate of House Republican leadership, key committee chairmen and a handful of senators.
Among Jetton's clients is his handpicked successor to lead the Republican campaign committee, Rep. Steven Tilley.
Tilley, a Perryville Republican, is currently the House floor leader and was tapped last month as the Republicans' speaker-elect for the 2011 legislative session.
Jetton now works as a political consultant for Tilley, who has paid him more than $46,000 through the end of September, records show.
Tilley said that he's never sought advice from Jetton on legislative matters since Jetton left office and that their conversations deal strictly with political matters.
"There's never been a time that I can remember Rod coming to me and saying, 'I want to talk about a policy issue,' " Tilley said.
In the Senate, Jetton's clients include his Jefferson City roommate Sen. Jason Crowell, a Cape Girardeau Republican renowned for his willingness to single-handedly obstruct legislation to suit his own interests and those of his constituents.
Much of the concern over Jetton's growing influence stems from these intertwined personal and professional relationships. Some lawmakers worry about the potential for more special-interest legislation benefiting political backers aligned with Jetton's machine.
Former House member Brian Baker, a Belton Republican who left office this year, said he grew weary of that culture. Too many times, Baker said, he found himself facing votes on legislation aimed at advancing the pet causes of big donors.
"I hated it," he said. "It made me uncomfortable."
Jetton maintains that his critics are merely trying to discredit him in an effort to undermine his business and help his competitors.
"They've said this stuff about me for four or five years. I just keep doing it. I'm professional. I do what I'm supposed to do," Jetton said. "I work my candidates like dogs, just like I've worked."
Follow the money
Within days of a controversial vote last April in the Missouri House, rumors flew that a reward was coming for the Republican leaders who pushed it through.
And those rumors proved true. $25,000 poured in a week after the vote. Then $5,000. Then $50,000. Then $100,000, followed days later by another $25,000. And another $50,000.
The campaign contributions -- more than $250,000 in all -- came from an influential family, the Humphreys family of Joplin. The family held strong feelings about the issue at hand: changing the state's judicial selection process.
The amount of money and the timing stunned some lawmakers.
"That's ridiculous," said Rep. Gary Dusenberg, a Blue Springs Republican.
It's becoming a recurring pattern in Missouri politics, lawmakers said. Supporters of an issue bring a bill forward. The bill is defeated. Then supporters are encouraged to hire a political consultant or step up their campaign contributions. When the next legislative session rolls around, the bill suddenly advances.
Campaign cash flowed freely following legislative action this spring on how the state's judges are picked, The Star's investigation found.
Judicial nominees for the state supreme and appeals courts, along with some larger circuit courts, are vetted by commissions made up of lawyers, gubernatorial appointees and a sitting judge. But conservatives have assailed the process, arguing that it gives too much influence to trial attorneys.
At the forefront of the fight has been the Humphreys family, owners of Joplin-based Tamko Building Products Inc. Tamko makes roofing products and other building materials. The company has been named in numerous asbestos lawsuits and boasts of a "very aggressive" litigation strategy.
Some companies believe that, through the political process, they can put judges on the bench who are more conservative and sympathetic to corporations.
Jetton and other House leaders have courted the Humphreys family for years. According to a Jetton confidant, who asked not to be identified, Jetton set a goal at the start of his reign as speaker to cultivate the Humphreys family first as $50,000 donors and then elevate the family to $100,000.
Jetton said he has met with David Humphreys twice over the years at his office in Joplin.
"I went down ... and explained what we were doing. And I said, 'If you like what you've seen, we need you to help us out,' " Jetton recalled. "And he was like, 'I like it. I'll help you.' "
But Jetton denied any involvement in the judicial reform bill.
Proposals to alter the judicial selection process have come and gone over the years, but it wasn't until this past April that one finally passed on an 85-72 vote in the House.
Suspicions arose almost immediately on both sides of the aisle. Several Republican lawmakers told The Star that their leadership held a series of closed-door meetings with freshman lawmakers and veterans who had voted against a similar bill in 2008.
"We got our asses chewed," said one lawmaker who was called before the speaker. The lawmaker asked not to be identified.
Tilley, who as floor leader directs legislation in the House, told lawmakers the bill's failure would be "unacceptable" and House Speaker Ron Richard bullied subordinates into supporting it, according to legislators' accounts and contemporaneous memos.
Richard represents the Humphreys family's hometown of Joplin. His spokeswoman, Kristen Blanchard, is the daughter of a Tamko executive.
Richard denied "twisting arms" and said he provided information about the bill only to lawmakers who asked for it. Tilley said party leaders did work to sway lawmakers on the issue, but he pointed out that "whipping" votes is a common legislative tactic.
"If it's a bill that's going to pass overwhelmingly, we never have to persuade anyone," Tilley said. "But if it's a bill that's going to be close, we bring them in and we certainly advocate our position."
Ultimately, 12 Republicans who voted "no" in 2008 supported the 2009 bill -- enough to swing the final result -- and the money started rolling in seven days later.
David and Debra Humphreys wrote a $25,000 check to Friends of Tilley, the floor leader's campaign committee.
Over the next several weeks, the Missouri Republican Party received $50,000 from David Humphreys. Humphreys gave $100,000 to the House Republican Campaign Committee, the fundraising PAC controlled by Tilley. And Humphreys' mother, Ethel Mae, gave $25,000 to the House Republican Campaign Committee -- even though the bill had already died in the Senate when the General Assembly adjourned in mid-May.
The family provided for Richard as well, doling out contributions totaling $55,000 between May and August.
Donations on that scale are legal in Missouri -- as long as they aren't explicitly tied to the progress of legislation. Federal law prohibits lawmakers from accepting "anything of value" in exchange for legislative action.
But Rep. Brian Yates, a Lee's Summit Republican who sponsored a major ethics bill last session that was defeated, said the contributions raise serious questions.
"That amount of money being contributed that close to the vote is concerning," Yates said. "People can draw their own conclusions."
Democrats already have.
"There's $250,000 for that vote," said Rep. Trent Skaggs of North Kansas City. The Humphreys family "paid for the vote. It's unbelievable."
Tilley, however, denied any link between the contributions and the vote.
"I can tell you with 100 percent certainty that myself or my caucus didn't move the bill as a result of donations," Tilley said. "That's absolutely untrue."
David Humphreys and other family members did not respond to repeated requests for comment.
Richard acknowledged the Humphreys family's interest in the court plan, but he pointed out that the family's donations didn't ensure its passage in the Senate, which, as expected, let the measure die.
"I doubt if he's (Humphreys) too proud of that," Richard said.
Consultant or lobbyist?
In early morning workouts, Jetton sometimes runs the statehouse steps, but he is rarely seen inside its halls.
Yet, critics complain, he's still pulling legislative strings.
"Jetton should register as a lobbyist," said Rep. Jim Viebrock of Republic, a fellow Republican. "The language in the ethics law is clear enough that some of his activities require him to become a lobbyist."
Without registering as a lobbyist, he is free to operate without making public disclosures. Jetton, however, maintains he's not a lobbyist in any way.
"You have to register when you lobby them (lawmakers) to vote this way or that way," he said. "I don't do that. Nobody pays me to go tell a legislator how to vote."
But Jetton's involvement in a legislative fight this spring, The Star found, illustrates why some of his critics are convinced he's operating as a lobbyist.
AmerenUE, an electric utility serving St. Louis and much of eastern Missouri, wanted lawmakers to allow the utility to charge customers the costs of building a nuclear power plant before it began generating electricity.
Opposition quickly arose across the political spectrum. But rising above the din were objections from Noranda Aluminum Inc., a metal smelter in the state's Bootheel and one of AmerenUE's biggest customers.
To make its message heard, Noranda hired Jetton.
On March 24, as the debate escalated, records show a campaign committee was formed under the name Missourians Against Higher Utility Rates. Its treasurer and deputy treasurer were two of Jetton's employees. Its mailing address was Rod Jetton & Associates' Jefferson City office.
On April 3, the committee's one -- and only -- contribution rolled in: a $78,570 check from Noranda Aluminum. The same day, the committee reported $44,550 in expenses to CCC LLC -- an abbreviation for Common Sense Conservative Consulting, the legal name of Jetton's firm.
Within a week, the committee paid $10,231 to an Ohio consultant specializing in "robocalls" and $23,593 more to Jetton's firm. In all, more than $68,000 flowed from Noranda to Jetton.
By April 11, the campaign committee had just $184.21 in the bank. So what did Noranda buy?
Elderly residents of Columbia began receiving mailings and recorded messages on their phones warning them of spiraling utility rates -- even though Columbia doesn't get its electricity from AmerenUE.
In reality, Jetton's efforts were aimed at Sen. Kurt Schaefer, a Republican whose district includes Columbia and who had taken the lead on drafting the legislation.
"The effort that was launched against me specifically and in my district was not, in my opinion, for informational purposes on the bill," Schaefer said.
Julie Allen, executive director of the Missouri Ethics Commission, said committees such as Missourians Against Higher Utility Rates have wide latitude to accept donations and reach out to voters.
"In general terms, the statute says they can use contributions to influence or attempt to influence the actions of voters," Allen said.
Outraged, Schaefer took his grievances to the Senate floor, where he tangled with Crowell.
Crowell was Jetton's first consulting client and still makes quarterly payments to his firm. Indeed, in 2008, Crowell paid more than $60,000 to Rod Jetton & Associates -- nearly one-third of the money Crowell raised for an easy Senate re-election campaign.
Crowell, whose district is within AmerenUE's service area, had led the legislative fight opposing the bill, at one point orchestrating a 10-hour filibuster against it. But Crowell denied doing anything on Jetton's behalf and took offense at suggestions otherwise.
"I won't be intimidated by being called crooked," he said in comments to the media at the time.
In an interview last week with The Star, Crowell again said: "Rod Jetton did not lobby me on this issue in any way, shape or form."
In the days following Noranda's campaign, the bill made little progress. By April 22, AmerenUE and its allies gave up.
Lawmakers who watched the drama unfold said Jetton's work for Noranda demonstrated that he had crossed the line into lobbying.
Skaggs also said there was little doubt that Jetton should be a registered lobbyist.
"He's in the halls. I've seen him talking to people," the North Kansas City Democrat said. "He should be (registered) because he obviously is making requests on behalf of legislation."
Dave Levinthal, a spokesman for the Center for Responsive Politics, a nonpartisan group that promotes open government, said Jetton appeared to be taking advantage of weak ethics laws.
"It allows for former lawmakers or anyone lobbying to basically operate under a veil and not have to disclose what they may be doing with some of their former colleagues and friends," Levinthal said, adding that it's not in the public's best interests.
He added: "We would advocate transparency in all of its forms to the greatest degree possible."
Whether he's a lobbyist or not, political consulting can be almost as lucrative. As a "part-time" lawmaker, Jetton earned $33,851. Now he makes much more.
By just one measure -- fees paid to his firm by candidates and publicly disclosed in campaign finance reports -- Jetton grossed more than $200,000 in 2008. Through the first nine months of 2009, a non-election year, Jetton's firm was paid more than $164,000.
That doesn't reflect business expenses or revenue from other sources.
Growing influence
Jetton's growing influence as a political consultant in Jefferson City, many lawmakers contend, is a result of two relatively new realities in state politics: term limits and unlimited campaign contributions.
Enacted in the 1990s, the term limit laws restrict legislators to eight years in the House and eight in the Senate. But the laws' full effects are only now being felt in the Capitol.
"If you're a political animal, you're already setting your sights on something else instead of really focusing on your job and doing the work for your constituents," said Rep. Patrick Naeger, a Perryville Republican who termed out in 2002.
That steep climb, observers said, only enhances the power of consultants such as Jetton, who can quickly provide the connections and money that young lawmakers need to succeed.
"Out of necessity, they're going to seek the advice of a pro who has those connections," said Sen. Luann Ridgeway, a Smithville Republican and a Jetton client.
Limits on contributions were thrown out last year in hopes that more transparency would be brought to the political process. But that flooded Missouri's political system with even more money.
Before the removal of limits, the most someone could contribute to a statewide candidate was $1,350. Now donations of $25,000 or $50,000 are not unusual. In the heat of the 2008 campaign, even six-figure donations were routine, and at least one contribution to a statewide candidate topped $1 million.
All the concerns about the link between campaign donations and legislative action have some lawmakers recalling corruption probes when the Democrats dominated the General Assembly in the 1980s and '90s.
Bob Griffin, the longest-serving House speaker in Missouri history, went to prison in 1997 after pleading guilty to violating federal bribery laws.
"I don't know how much different this is from the Griffin days," said Sen. Delbert Scott, a Lowry City Republican first elected in 1985.
Ongoing investigations
Earlier this month, Mayor Len Pagano of St. Peters, Mo., told The Star that he contacted the FBI with concerns about the legality of legislation passed under Jetton's House leadership in 2005.
The bill specifically targeted the St. Louis suburb, prohibiting it from collecting revenues from a voter-approved 5 percent hotel tax.
Critics such as Pagano contend it's another example of special-interest legislation, since one of the backers of the legislation was the head of the Drury Inn hotel chain. Only weeks after the vote, the Drury company contributed a total of about $15,000 to the House Republican Campaign Committee headed by Jetton.
Charles Drury Sr., chairman of the board of Drury Development Corp., said he knew nothing about the donations.
"Never in my life have I given one dollar to any politician, any politician, with the belief I should get anything back in the form of other than what they should do, which should be 100 percent honest for every citizen in America," Drury said.
In his conversation with FBI agents, Pagano said, they acknowledged an investigation looking specifically at Jetton.
A spokesperson for the FBI would neither confirm nor deny the existence of any investigation. But lawmakers earlier had told The Star that Jetton was among several the FBI was scrutinizing involving pay-for-play allegations, where legislation is tied to campaign donations.
Meanwhile, the Missouri Ethics Commission is investigating whether Jetton used campaign funds for private purposes.
According to the complaint, Jetton in late 2007 closed one campaign committee and transferred $24,143 from it into a new committee -- the Speaker Jetton Leadership Fund -- formed on the same day, then used the money to pay employees and business expenses at his consulting firm. The Leadership Fund was "terminated" by Jetton's staff on Oct. 2.
"The use of campaign funds to offset employee expenses for a consulting business clearly constitutes a conversion of contributions, which are prohibited," the complaint states.
The document obtained by The Star includes only a statement of facts, but it does not show who filed it or the date it was submitted.
The Ethics Commission does not comment on complaints or acknowledge the status of pending investigations. No action concerning Jetton has been recorded in commission proceedings.
Jetton maintains that he has done nothing wrong. He also insists he has no knowledge of an FBI inquiry.
For now, the country boy who fashioned himself politically after one-time U.S. Senate majority leader and former president Lyndon B. Johnson continues to do his consulting work just a short jog from the Capitol.
LBJ, Jetton said, taught him that money and pulling strings aren't what's important in government.
"People are really what makes politics work," Jetton said. "You got to get to know the people."
INSIDE ON PAGE A22
--Businessman's donations have taken Jefferson City by storm.
--How Missouri can clean up its politics.
To reach Jason Noble, call 573-634-3565 or send e-mail to jnoble@kcstar.com. To reach Steve Kraske, call 816-234-4312 or send e-mail to skraske@kcstar.com.
To see more of The Kansas City Star, or to subscribe to the newspaper, go to http://www.kansascity.com.
Copyright (c) 2009, The Kansas City Star, Mo.
Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Information Services.
Subscribe To Lake AlertsWhen a Republican candidate in Missouri wants money, he hires Rod Jetton. When a corporation wants to defeat legislation, it hires Jetton.
And when big donors push big special interests, they know Jetton's friends can make lawmakers an offer they can't refuse.
Since he left the General Assembly as House speaker in 2008, Jetton has parlayed a natural gift for politics and eight years as a tough, tireless Republican Party leader into a profitable career as a consultant famous for behind-the-scenes maneuvering.
But the way the ex-Marine and former real estate salesman conducts political business has attracted the scrutiny of the FBI as it probes "pay for play" allegations in Jefferson City. Lawmakers are being investigated, too.
"Instead of being the guy himself -- being the governor -- he decided he wanted to become the puppet master," said Chris Benjamin, a former top aide to Jetton who has since become a Democrat.
The Kansas City Star interviewed dozens of lawmakers, lobbyists and political observers and reviewed thousands of pages of documents in recent months and found Jetton is one of the most powerful men influencing state government, despite not being an elected official.
The Star's investigation found:
--Jetton's clients have collected huge campaign donations after supporting legislation backed by wealthy Missourians. A vote in the House that tried to change how the state's judges are selected netted more than $250,000 in contributions for a Jetton client and for GOP campaign committees.
--Jetton has been operating at times, according to Republican and Democratic lawmakers, more like a lobbyist than a political consultant. Lobbyists are required to register with the Missouri Ethics Commission and publicly disclose their clients and gifts to lawmakers. A successful fight against utility rate legislation on behalf of one of his corporate clients netted $68,000 in fees for Jetton's consulting firm.
--Jetton's handling of campaign funds has drawn the attention of the Ethics Commission. A complaint obtained by The Star alleges that after he left office, Jetton illegally converted more than $24,000 in campaign money to personal use.
Jetton said that the money transfer was legal and that his critics' assessments of his power are overblown.
"I hear it all the time that I'm the 'Wizard of Oz' behind the curtain. I guess I should be flattered. Quite frankly ... I don't have any power. I can't kill a bill. I can't refer a bill," Jetton said. "If I have any power, it's because of one thing: I know how to run a campaign and win a race."
Bare-knuckles politics
Jetton, 42, served four terms in the House, rising from an unknown rural representative from southeast Missouri to speaker, the chamber's most powerful position.
But controversy dogged him during his political career. In 2004, he launched a consulting firm -- Common Sense Conservative Consulting -- and ran it throughout his tenure as speaker, taking on as clients the same lawmakers whose legislation depended on his blessing.
While the Ethics Commission called the arrangement legal, it expressed "serious concerns about the ability of an elected official to avoid violation of ... laws while conducting a consulting business for compensation."
When he was speaker, Jetton also oversaw the House Republican Campaign Committee, the political action committee that bankrolls candidates in close elections statewide.
He orchestrated the passage of legislation on how villages are incorporated, enraging his own party so much that more than two dozen fellow Republicans attempted to boot him from office.
And he did it all with a swagger, once heckling the then governor, Bob Holden, during a legislative address, and even keeping a second office in a bank-style vault on the Capitol's second floor.
But the continuing controversies -- and his steady alienation of those within his own party -- effectively ruled out a run at statewide office. So when Jetton was term-limited out of the House in 2008, he turned his attention full time to consulting.
Known for his bare-knuckles politics and boundless energy, Jetton has become a conduit for campaign contributions greasing the legislative gears in Jefferson City, The Star found.
From his office on High Street just blocks from the Capitol, Jetton now counts among his clients nearly the entire slate of House Republican leadership, key committee chairmen and a handful of senators.
Among Jetton's clients is his handpicked successor to lead the Republican campaign committee, Rep. Steven Tilley.
Tilley, a Perryville Republican, is currently the House floor leader and was tapped last month as the Republicans' speaker-elect for the 2011 legislative session.
Jetton now works as a political consultant for Tilley, who has paid him more than $46,000 through the end of September, records show.
Tilley said that he's never sought advice from Jetton on legislative matters since Jetton left office and that their conversations deal strictly with political matters.
"There's never been a time that I can remember Rod coming to me and saying, 'I want to talk about a policy issue,' " Tilley said.
In the Senate, Jetton's clients include his Jefferson City roommate Sen. Jason Crowell, a Cape Girardeau Republican renowned for his willingness to single-handedly obstruct legislation to suit his own interests and those of his constituents.
Much of the concern over Jetton's growing influence stems from these intertwined personal and professional relationships. Some lawmakers worry about the potential for more special-interest legislation benefiting political backers aligned with Jetton's machine.
Former House member Brian Baker, a Belton Republican who left office this year, said he grew weary of that culture. Too many times, Baker said, he found himself facing votes on legislation aimed at advancing the pet causes of big donors.
"I hated it," he said. "It made me uncomfortable."
Jetton maintains that his critics are merely trying to discredit him in an effort to undermine his business and help his competitors.
"They've said this stuff about me for four or five years. I just keep doing it. I'm professional. I do what I'm supposed to do," Jetton said. "I work my candidates like dogs, just like I've worked."
Follow the money
Within days of a controversial vote last April in the Missouri House, rumors flew that a reward was coming for the Republican leaders who pushed it through.
And those rumors proved true. $25,000 poured in a week after the vote. Then $5,000. Then $50,000. Then $100,000, followed days later by another $25,000. And another $50,000.
The campaign contributions -- more than $250,000 in all -- came from an influential family, the Humphreys family of Joplin. The family held strong feelings about the issue at hand: changing the state's judicial selection process.
The amount of money and the timing stunned some lawmakers.
"That's ridiculous," said Rep. Gary Dusenberg, a Blue Springs Republican.
It's becoming a recurring pattern in Missouri politics, lawmakers said. Supporters of an issue bring a bill forward. The bill is defeated. Then supporters are encouraged to hire a political consultant or step up their campaign contributions. When the next legislative session rolls around, the bill suddenly advances.
Campaign cash flowed freely following legislative action this spring on how the state's judges are picked, The Star's investigation found.
Judicial nominees for the state supreme and appeals courts, along with some larger circuit courts, are vetted by commissions made up of lawyers, gubernatorial appointees and a sitting judge. But conservatives have assailed the process, arguing that it gives too much influence to trial attorneys.
At the forefront of the fight has been the Humphreys family, owners of Joplin-based Tamko Building Products Inc. Tamko makes roofing products and other building materials. The company has been named in numerous asbestos lawsuits and boasts of a "very aggressive" litigation strategy.
Some companies believe that, through the political process, they can put judges on the bench who are more conservative and sympathetic to corporations.
Jetton and other House leaders have courted the Humphreys family for years. According to a Jetton confidant, who asked not to be identified, Jetton set a goal at the start of his reign as speaker to cultivate the Humphreys family first as $50,000 donors and then elevate the family to $100,000.
Jetton said he has met with David Humphreys twice over the years at his office in Joplin.
"I went down ... and explained what we were doing. And I said, 'If you like what you've seen, we need you to help us out,' " Jetton recalled. "And he was like, 'I like it. I'll help you.' "
But Jetton denied any involvement in the judicial reform bill.
Proposals to alter the judicial selection process have come and gone over the years, but it wasn't until this past April that one finally passed on an 85-72 vote in the House.
Suspicions arose almost immediately on both sides of the aisle. Several Republican lawmakers told The Star that their leadership held a series of closed-door meetings with freshman lawmakers and veterans who had voted against a similar bill in 2008.
"We got our asses chewed," said one lawmaker who was called before the speaker. The lawmaker asked not to be identified.
Tilley, who as floor leader directs legislation in the House, told lawmakers the bill's failure would be "unacceptable" and House Speaker Ron Richard bullied subordinates into supporting it, according to legislators' accounts and contemporaneous memos.
Richard represents the Humphreys family's hometown of Joplin. His spokeswoman, Kristen Blanchard, is the daughter of a Tamko executive.
Richard denied "twisting arms" and said he provided information about the bill only to lawmakers who asked for it. Tilley said party leaders did work to sway lawmakers on the issue, but he pointed out that "whipping" votes is a common legislative tactic.
"If it's a bill that's going to pass overwhelmingly, we never have to persuade anyone," Tilley said. "But if it's a bill that's going to be close, we bring them in and we certainly advocate our position."
Ultimately, 12 Republicans who voted "no" in 2008 supported the 2009 bill -- enough to swing the final result -- and the money started rolling in seven days later.
David and Debra Humphreys wrote a $25,000 check to Friends of Tilley, the floor leader's campaign committee.
Over the next several weeks, the Missouri Republican Party received $50,000 from David Humphreys. Humphreys gave $100,000 to the House Republican Campaign Committee, the fundraising PAC controlled by Tilley. And Humphreys' mother, Ethel Mae, gave $25,000 to the House Republican Campaign Committee -- even though the bill had already died in the Senate when the General Assembly adjourned in mid-May.
The family provided for Richard as well, doling out contributions totaling $55,000 between May and August.
Donations on that scale are legal in Missouri -- as long as they aren't explicitly tied to the progress of legislation. Federal law prohibits lawmakers from accepting "anything of value" in exchange for legislative action.
But Rep. Brian Yates, a Lee's Summit Republican who sponsored a major ethics bill last session that was defeated, said the contributions raise serious questions.
"That amount of money being contributed that close to the vote is concerning," Yates said. "People can draw their own conclusions."
Democrats already have.
"There's $250,000 for that vote," said Rep. Trent Skaggs of North Kansas City. The Humphreys family "paid for the vote. It's unbelievable."
Tilley, however, denied any link between the contributions and the vote.
"I can tell you with 100 percent certainty that myself or my caucus didn't move the bill as a result of donations," Tilley said. "That's absolutely untrue."
David Humphreys and other family members did not respond to repeated requests for comment.
Richard acknowledged the Humphreys family's interest in the court plan, but he pointed out that the family's donations didn't ensure its passage in the Senate, which, as expected, let the measure die.
"I doubt if he's (Humphreys) too proud of that," Richard said.
Consultant or lobbyist?
In early morning workouts, Jetton sometimes runs the statehouse steps, but he is rarely seen inside its halls.
Yet, critics complain, he's still pulling legislative strings.
"Jetton should register as a lobbyist," said Rep. Jim Viebrock of Republic, a fellow Republican. "The language in the ethics law is clear enough that some of his activities require him to become a lobbyist."
Without registering as a lobbyist, he is free to operate without making public disclosures. Jetton, however, maintains he's not a lobbyist in any way.
"You have to register when you lobby them (lawmakers) to vote this way or that way," he said. "I don't do that. Nobody pays me to go tell a legislator how to vote."
But Jetton's involvement in a legislative fight this spring, The Star found, illustrates why some of his critics are convinced he's operating as a lobbyist.
AmerenUE, an electric utility serving St. Louis and much of eastern Missouri, wanted lawmakers to allow the utility to charge customers the costs of building a nuclear power plant before it began generating electricity.
Opposition quickly arose across the political spectrum. But rising above the din were objections from Noranda Aluminum Inc., a metal smelter in the state's Bootheel and one of AmerenUE's biggest customers.
To make its message heard, Noranda hired Jetton.
On March 24, as the debate escalated, records show a campaign committee was formed under the name Missourians Against Higher Utility Rates. Its treasurer and deputy treasurer were two of Jetton's employees. Its mailing address was Rod Jetton & Associates' Jefferson City office.
On April 3, the committee's one -- and only -- contribution rolled in: a $78,570 check from Noranda Aluminum. The same day, the committee reported $44,550 in expenses to CCC LLC -- an abbreviation for Common Sense Conservative Consulting, the legal name of Jetton's firm.
Within a week, the committee paid $10,231 to an Ohio consultant specializing in "robocalls" and $23,593 more to Jetton's firm. In all, more than $68,000 flowed from Noranda to Jetton.
By April 11, the campaign committee had just $184.21 in the bank. So what did Noranda buy?
Elderly residents of Columbia began receiving mailings and recorded messages on their phones warning them of spiraling utility rates -- even though Columbia doesn't get its electricity from AmerenUE.
In reality, Jetton's efforts were aimed at Sen. Kurt Schaefer, a Republican whose district includes Columbia and who had taken the lead on drafting the legislation.
"The effort that was launched against me specifically and in my district was not, in my opinion, for informational purposes on the bill," Schaefer said.
Julie Allen, executive director of the Missouri Ethics Commission, said committees such as Missourians Against Higher Utility Rates have wide latitude to accept donations and reach out to voters.
"In general terms, the statute says they can use contributions to influence or attempt to influence the actions of voters," Allen said.
Outraged, Schaefer took his grievances to the Senate floor, where he tangled with Crowell.
Crowell was Jetton's first consulting client and still makes quarterly payments to his firm. Indeed, in 2008, Crowell paid more than $60,000 to Rod Jetton & Associates -- nearly one-third of the money Crowell raised for an easy Senate re-election campaign.
Crowell, whose district is within AmerenUE's service area, had led the legislative fight opposing the bill, at one point orchestrating a 10-hour filibuster against it. But Crowell denied doing anything on Jetton's behalf and took offense at suggestions otherwise.
"I won't be intimidated by being called crooked," he said in comments to the media at the time.
In an interview last week with The Star, Crowell again said: "Rod Jetton did not lobby me on this issue in any way, shape or form."
In the days following Noranda's campaign, the bill made little progress. By April 22, AmerenUE and its allies gave up.
Lawmakers who watched the drama unfold said Jetton's work for Noranda demonstrated that he had crossed the line into lobbying.
Skaggs also said there was little doubt that Jetton should be a registered lobbyist.
"He's in the halls. I've seen him talking to people," the North Kansas City Democrat said. "He should be (registered) because he obviously is making requests on behalf of legislation."
Dave Levinthal, a spokesman for the Center for Responsive Politics, a nonpartisan group that promotes open government, said Jetton appeared to be taking advantage of weak ethics laws.
"It allows for former lawmakers or anyone lobbying to basically operate under a veil and not have to disclose what they may be doing with some of their former colleagues and friends," Levinthal said, adding that it's not in the public's best interests.
He added: "We would advocate transparency in all of its forms to the greatest degree possible."
Whether he's a lobbyist or not, political consulting can be almost as lucrative. As a "part-time" lawmaker, Jetton earned $33,851. Now he makes much more.
By just one measure -- fees paid to his firm by candidates and publicly disclosed in campaign finance reports -- Jetton grossed more than $200,000 in 2008. Through the first nine months of 2009, a non-election year, Jetton's firm was paid more than $164,000.
That doesn't reflect business expenses or revenue from other sources.
Growing influence
Jetton's growing influence as a political consultant in Jefferson City, many lawmakers contend, is a result of two relatively new realities in state politics: term limits and unlimited campaign contributions.
Enacted in the 1990s, the term limit laws restrict legislators to eight years in the House and eight in the Senate. But the laws' full effects are only now being felt in the Capitol.
"If you're a political animal, you're already setting your sights on something else instead of really focusing on your job and doing the work for your constituents," said Rep. Patrick Naeger, a Perryville Republican who termed out in 2002.
That steep climb, observers said, only enhances the power of consultants such as Jetton, who can quickly provide the connections and money that young lawmakers need to succeed.
"Out of necessity, they're going to seek the advice of a pro who has those connections," said Sen. Luann Ridgeway, a Smithville Republican and a Jetton client.
Limits on contributions were thrown out last year in hopes that more transparency would be brought to the political process. But that flooded Missouri's political system with even more money.
Before the removal of limits, the most someone could contribute to a statewide candidate was $1,350. Now donations of $25,000 or $50,000 are not unusual. In the heat of the 2008 campaign, even six-figure donations were routine, and at least one contribution to a statewide candidate topped $1 million.
All the concerns about the link between campaign donations and legislative action have some lawmakers recalling corruption probes when the Democrats dominated the General Assembly in the 1980s and '90s.
Bob Griffin, the longest-serving House speaker in Missouri history, went to prison in 1997 after pleading guilty to violating federal bribery laws.
"I don't know how much different this is from the Griffin days," said Sen. Delbert Scott, a Lowry City Republican first elected in 1985.
Ongoing investigations
Earlier this month, Mayor Len Pagano of St. Peters, Mo., told The Star that he contacted the FBI with concerns about the legality of legislation passed under Jetton's House leadership in 2005.
The bill specifically targeted the St. Louis suburb, prohibiting it from collecting revenues from a voter-approved 5 percent hotel tax.
Critics such as Pagano contend it's another example of special-interest legislation, since one of the backers of the legislation was the head of the Drury Inn hotel chain. Only weeks after the vote, the Drury company contributed a total of about $15,000 to the House Republican Campaign Committee headed by Jetton.
Charles Drury Sr., chairman of the board of Drury Development Corp., said he knew nothing about the donations.
"Never in my life have I given one dollar to any politician, any politician, with the belief I should get anything back in the form of other than what they should do, which should be 100 percent honest for every citizen in America," Drury said.
In his conversation with FBI agents, Pagano said, they acknowledged an investigation looking specifically at Jetton.
A spokesperson for the FBI would neither confirm nor deny the existence of any investigation. But lawmakers earlier had told The Star that Jetton was among several the FBI was scrutinizing involving pay-for-play allegations, where legislation is tied to campaign donations.
Meanwhile, the Missouri Ethics Commission is investigating whether Jetton used campaign funds for private purposes.
According to the complaint, Jetton in late 2007 closed one campaign committee and transferred $24,143 from it into a new committee -- the Speaker Jetton Leadership Fund -- formed on the same day, then used the money to pay employees and business expenses at his consulting firm. The Leadership Fund was "terminated" by Jetton's staff on Oct. 2.
"The use of campaign funds to offset employee expenses for a consulting business clearly constitutes a conversion of contributions, which are prohibited," the complaint states.
The document obtained by The Star includes only a statement of facts, but it does not show who filed it or the date it was submitted.
The Ethics Commission does not comment on complaints or acknowledge the status of pending investigations. No action concerning Jetton has been recorded in commission proceedings.
Jetton maintains that he has done nothing wrong. He also insists he has no knowledge of an FBI inquiry.
For now, the country boy who fashioned himself politically after one-time U.S. Senate majority leader and former president Lyndon B. Johnson continues to do his consulting work just a short jog from the Capitol.
LBJ, Jetton said, taught him that money and pulling strings aren't what's important in government.
"People are really what makes politics work," Jetton said. "You got to get to know the people."
INSIDE ON PAGE A22
--Businessman's donations have taken Jefferson City by storm.
--How Missouri can clean up its politics.
To reach Jason Noble, call 573-634-3565 or send e-mail to jnoble@kcstar.com. To reach Steve Kraske, call 816-234-4312 or send e-mail to skraske@kcstar.com.
To see more of The Kansas City Star, or to subscribe to the newspaper, go to http://www.kansascity.com.
Copyright (c) 2009, The Kansas City Star, Mo.
Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Information Services.
Share this Article
 |
 |
|
| SCORE welcomes David Gregg as new volunteer advisor | MoDot spending $2.3 million to get bridge right-of-way that city sold for $2 |
Article Rating
Reader Comments
Submit a Comment
We encourage your feedback and dialog, all comments will be reviewed by our Web staff before appearing on the Web site.
